The Drinks Date

On Paper:

Without the distraction of activities, maybe romance could flourish over conversation and a few glasses of wine.

What could possibly go wrong…



In Reality:

A 6ft 5, Oxford graduate who works for the Houses of Parliament.

Well played Tinder…

Within seconds he spoke, but it wasn’t the usual get to know eachother waffle – it was with a sense of urgency (a pushy Politician):

“Debbie, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“I’m seeing my best friend for a drink”

“No you’re not”

“Yes I am”

“We’re going for a drink.”

“But I don’t do drinks-”

“Trust me it’ll be fun. Tomorrow, 7pm – see you then.”





I following day I wished farewell to my housemate.

Who was just as flabbergasted:

“So, you’re just going for a drink?”


“No trampolines, catapults – rollerblades?”


“Fuck. This sounds serious Debbie.”

“I know. Can you imagine – me with a Politician?!”

“HA NO!”

Alright – its not completely unfathomable.

Just a poor little white girl who grew up in the Southside of Swindon…

I arrived and met my date outside our chosen bar:

“Debbie – great to meet you, shall we?”

We headed inside, when the date took an immediate (downward) turn:

“Debbie what do you want?”

“Oh anything (everything) – you chose Quentin.”

“Ok, can I get a gin and tonic for the lady and can I just get a soda and lime…”


“…Oh yeah, I forgot to mention…”

Oh god, please don’t say it…

“…I don’t drink Debbie.”


“But how do you have fun?”

How do you leave the house?!

“You don’t need alcohol to have fun Debbie”

 You do on a fucking drinks date.

“Well, what do we do now?”

“We have conversation Debbie.”


So I began (tried)

“Why don’t you drink?”

“Debbie, it’s actually really rude for someone to ask that question when they have no idea what the answer could be.”


“Ok…How’s your squash?”

“It’s alright. Do you want a boyfriend?”



“Well -”

“There must be a reason”

Fucking hell.

“I dunno. I’m damaged.”

“Damaged – what do you mean?!”


I tried to change the subject…

“Anyway, I see you work for the Government – what do you think of Boris’s new appointment, pretty mental?!”

“I worked very closely with the “Out” campaign and think his new appointment is just what the country needs. So, what do you mean – do you never want to get married?”


“Can we not just have normal conversation?”

“Debbie, this is normal?”

Yeah – after a 6 month relationship. 

“Can we just talk about something (anything) else”

“Fine – why are you damaged?”



The bar silenced and my date suggested heading to another place.

“Sure your sugar levels can handle it Quentin?”

“Very funny Debbie”

Bar lady laughed.

As we walked to the next venue he commented on the scenery outside MacDonald’s:

“God. Don’t you look at some people and just think they shouldn’t breed.”


Then arrived at our next location where he continued:

“Debbie, do you think you’re pretty?”

“Everything good about me you can buy.”


“That’s not a very nice thing to say about yourself.”

“I was joking Quentin…”

“Do you not think you’re attractive then?”

“Look, a lot of my humour is laughing at myself.”

“It’s not very attractive.”

Got 100 dates out of it of last year so –

I got out a cigarette (fuck the pretence) as I saw his eyes begin to glaze over.

“Can I be honest Debbie?”

First for a Politician.

“When I met you I quite fancied you. But now I see you, how you see yourself.



“…And I don’t want to spend another second with you.”





So… shall we call it a night then?”

“Yeah, well – unless you fancy it Debbie, your place or mine?


Cost: Fifty fucking pence for a squash.

Dangerous Rating:

“No thanks Quentin. Rather shove a cactus up my arsehole.”

Never trust a Politician.

Especially one that doesn’t drink.














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